


Filled

by coveredbyroses



Series: The Porn Wars [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 16:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21431122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: Tracking Dean ends up in a very…fulfilling capture.
Relationships: Demon!Dean/You
Series: The Porn Wars [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1338178
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	Filled

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You were there to track; to watch his movements, his behavior. You were careful, meticulous about keeping yourself tucked into the smoky shadows of the bar.

But something, somewhere, went very wrong.

Maybe he’d sensed you, maybe the lighting had struck at just the perfect moment - but as soon as those juniper eyes landed on yours, you knew you’d been had. You didn’t dare fight him, not one-on-one like this, not human against Knight of Hell. His eyes had slicked to oil, just for good measure; to roil that icy fear that had been steadily crystallizing. Inky pools had stayed tacked to you, unwavering as he barked for the the mass to leave - and they did; drunken patrons and staff alike, had just scrambled out like Dean himself owned the place.

He’d given you the option to leave with them, but something was holding you there; something solid and resolute - and that frosty panic quickly melted into something else entirely.

You didn’t even try to resist when he told you to strip, when he told you to climb up on the bar counter - and if you’re completely honest with yourself, you wanted it.

Dean had had you on on fours for the longest time, the polished wood a punishing ache against you knees, and your biceps burned with a boiling intensity with every lingering second that passed. Your gaze held a scratch long ago carved into the surface, the honey-colored slash stark and obvious against the dark mocha of the glossy wood. He’d gone, left you with the demanding order not to move. Something in the deepest crevice of your mind screamed that you should, that you could - you could sneak right out, get a hold of Sam…

But he’d find you. There’s no way in Heaven or Hell you could outrun the man - not even as a human. That’s why you stayed glued to that counter - not because you wanted to. Not because there was a simmering heat collecting in your belly, trickling wet-hot out of your cunt. No. You stayed because you didn’t have a choice. You didn’t want this - how _could_ you.

You’d remained locked in your commanded pose when you felt the heat of him behind you, when you heard the rubbery squeak of boots against hard wood. You _let_ him grope your hanging tits, _let_ him rake his fingers through your hair.

“Such a good little girl, aren’t you?” He’d said, voice brash against the silence, fingers tracing the smooth dip of your spine. “This is what wannabe hunters like you were _made_ for.” The insult cut deep, jarred right through the swelling desire, but you remained still; obedient.

You felt the movement as bent down, felt the damp heat of his breath washing over the shell of your ear. “Thought you were _so_ stealthy, didn’t you? Hiding in that corner.” He’d hummed, just _daring_ you to bite back. You didn’t. “And look at you now. You’re all…” A sharp crack of his palm against your ass echoed through the open space. “On display.”

Shame closed your eyes just a fresh surge of arousal thrummed through your blood. Humiliation had always been a kink for you, and Dean knew it. He’d discovered it several years ago, back in that motel room in Stockbridge, Michigan after a gnarly Vamp hunt that had led to a lot of whiskey which had led to a _lot_ of mind-numbing sex.

You’d stayed still and silent when he’d moved behind you to drag two fingers through the slick heat of your cunt, biting back a moan when he worked those fingers inside.

“Damn, baby,” he’d rumbled. “You’re leakin’ all over the place. Need me to fill up this messy hole?” You’d grit your teeth when your cunt had enthusiastically clamped down, ground them harder when he chuckled so deep at your body’s reaction to his words. “Yeah, I think you need to be _all_ plugged up.”

*

True to his words, Dean had you filled. He reminds you of it every time he rasps his thumb over the plug in your ass, every time he pumps his cock so deep into the hot, sluicing wet of your cunt. The silicone ball between your teeth keeps your grunts muted so that the only sounds you can really hear are Dean’s gravelly moans, the clinking of his belt buckle, and the rhythmic, fleshy smack of skin against skin.

You’re rocking over the bar’s surface, tits crushed against it, nipples sparking, _maddeningly_ delicious every time they sharply roll over the varnish. Your knees hurt; wood grinding against bone, but the pleasure’s thick enough keep the pain grounded to a dulled ache.

A powerful hand grips you hard at the waist, another cupping and kneading the fleshy round of the left globe of your ass as he snaps into you. Your own hands are curled desperately around the smoothed edges of the bar, anchoring yourself down under the heavy power of Dean’s pistoning hips.

Drool pools underneath your sweaty, sliding cheek, sneaking out from the deep ache of your open jaw - but you can’t pay any mind to it with the way your eyes are rolled back so deep into the crackly static-

One brush of a callused finger at your clit has you already steeling up, has your already shallow breaths dimming in your throat. Dean hefts your ass up higher - and, _oh_, the plug shifts, and then those fingers are rubbing _hard-_

You explode.

A strangled scream rips from your chest, and you’re shaking and tightening as ripple after ripple of blistering pleasure blooms from your belly. You’re clenching to the point of pain, your muscles locking and spasming until you can feel the beginnings of charley horses.

Dean pulls out of you before the aftershocks can fade, and you can hear the slick, fleshy pumping sound as he jerks himself-

And then he’s _growling_ as hot wet splatters against the small of your back, rolls down the arched up slant of it.

Boots thump against the floor, and there’s a rustle of a denim, a rasp of a dragged up zipper, a jingle of a clasping belt.

“So,” Dean starts, still panting. He’s bent down again, green eyes leveled with yours. “The question is…” His ruddy lips pull into an icy smile, teeth gleaming in the dull light. “Do I release you back into the wild?” His grin goes slack, eyes slicking back to that frighteningly pitchy dark. “Or do I keep you?” He tilts his head. “Could be fun. My own…portable little fuck doll.” The smile returns, and something churns deep in your gut. “ Tell ya what. I’m gonna let you decide. I’m gonna go get cleaned up. You just stay right here and think about it.”

You’ve already made your decision before his footsteps can fade.


End file.
